Klytemnestra, Agamemnon:

"Thus he died, and all the life struggled out of him;
and as he died he spattered me with the dark red
and violent-driven rain of bitter-savoured blood
to make me glad, as gardens among the showers
of God in glory at the birthtime of the buds."

How does such a beautiful passage encapsulate such a ghastly thing- the image of a queen stabbing her husband.
The image is made poetic and magical not only through iambic trimeter, which gives it rhythm and music, but it is because true beauty is to be found in the horrific, the terrifying.

Aristotle says that objects such as corpses, painful to view in themselves, can become delightful to contemplate in a work of art.
Death is the mother of beauty.
Beauty is terror.

If beauty is terror, then what is desire?
To live.
But to live forever.